Clove Not just a heartless killer
by Brittany-the-Mockingjay
Summary: A story about the 74th Hunger Games from a tribute, Clove's, point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Cloves Story **

**Chapter One**

My last knife, I release with a sense of satisfaction. Straight in the heart. The rabbit's body spasms on the grass, blood pooling around its now limp body. I smile. My hand, once again, made target. Another direct hit. My usual early morning routine is not quite over yet. After knife throwing comes the 3 mile run, then weights and agility training with the other 'careers'. Then, breakfast. The sun just begins to peak over the horizon, bathing the meadow in golden light as I toss the rabbit into the bushes, its blood splatters up my leg. "Ew". I wipe it off with a dead leaf then laugh at myself. Next year I will be killing children, there's bound to be lots of blood.

"Clove, your late, hurry up!", my father yells from down the path. "Lets go!"

I pick up my knives and tuck them into my belt, letting my shirt hang down and cover them. Even though everyone knows I'm a career, It's still risky to walk around with weapons in town. Who knows who might see you? Peacekeepers?-They're everywhere, seeing as District 2 trains them. Representatives from the Capitol? That would certainly mean at least 20 public lashings. I've seen it, just last week, wasn't pretty.

Today, as we do only once a year, my father lets us skip the rest of training, because today is special. Today is the day that we have been training for. Today is my day. Reaping Day. The only sporting event our nation knows of, that the Capitol treats as a festivity, whereas it's more of an event where you just need to shut your eyes and pray for your life. At least in our district, it's not as bad a several others. In district two, we claim most number of victors out of 73 games; an impressive 22. In fact my fathers cousin won ten years ago, but father speaks nothing of it, it was the year that mother was killed. She was the female tribute, the career, the first one killed in the bloodbath. Father believes the glory his children may bring the family will lessen his grief. At sixteen years old, I have only a few years left, which is why I plan to volunteer next year. The 75th Annual Hunger Games. I have one more year to train.

After a quick meal of bread and assorted vegetables, our families head for the square. It's been lavishly decorated, pictures of previous victors strung up and surrounded by ribbons, streamers spilling from the justice buildings windows, rainbows colored confetti around the stage. I separate from my brothers, heading towards my friend Acacia Vyne. The small girl comes from a poor family; she'd have no chance. She'd be crushed instantly. They're nice people, unfortunate situation. But as my father says, life's not fair, get used to it.

The escort, Carissa Swan, a thin, sky blue-skinned Capitol representative who claims she's 'just like the rest of us' is on the stage, speaking to the mayor and Enobaria Phane, a victor with golden teeth. Brutus and Mitchell, two other victors who seem to be close friends, join them. Finally, the clock chimes nine times, and the crowd falls silent, all eyes on the two glass balls, full to the brim with slips of paper. One for boys; one for girls. The Reaping has begun.

Our mayor speaks to us, telling us about our nations history, how fortunate we are to be in these conditions today, and how we are indebted to the Capitol forever, basically. I zone out, looking around the crowd for a familiar face…Cato. A fellow career. This year is his year.

Carissa Swans manicured hand dips into the boy's ball, wavering momentarily before plunging deep into the small folds of paper. I can't help my eyes from wandering over to my brother Deacons petrified expression, he's only 13. His worry rubs off on me. This is his second year in the Reaping… "Adenian Lapoli!", Carissa grins, applauding furiously. "Let us welcome out newest tribute!"

Before the boy can even step outside his area, another boy, this time from an area further back, leaps out onto the stage. "I volunteer!" - It's Cato.

I laugh. He seems so eager, It's just wrong.

"Well, well, well…. A Volunteer, how surprising." Carissa spouts sarcastically. Carissa blabs on some more about him being a good sport. "Now, why don't you pick your partner?". Cato reaches a thick hand into the girl's orb and catches a sheet of paper. He's smirking. I pray that it's not me that's chosen, not because I don't want to go, but because I want to volunteer. To look like a hero.

"Acacia Vyne", Cato reads in a gruff raspy voice. I gasp. My friend. The colour drains from her face. You said you'd volunteer for me, her eyes plead. And I did. I promised. But Cato, he's so strong. He could kill me so easily. I weigh my chances…

"I volunteer!", I yell. Analie faints. It was obviously all too much for her. People pool around her as I walk up to the stage to join Cato. The mayor nods approvingly at me, satisfied with both tributes being volunteers. I look around, digging my nails into my palms. It's what I do when I'm nervous. The rest of the day seems a blur- my father reminding me of every single thing I've practiced, every skill, every tactic, every planned betrayal.

Next thing I know, I'm on the train. Carissa, Cato, Mitchell and Enobaria are watching the recap of the other Reapings, sizing up the competition. A few of them stain my mind; the huge boy from district 11 with the permanent frown, an arrogant prissy girl from district 1 and a snobby so called 'savior' that saved her sister from district 12. I saved Analie? Remember? But no… they feature her…. stupid girl. She'll die first.

I fall into a dreamless sleep, still in my reaping outfit.

We are going to the Capitol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I bolt upright on the way-too-soft bed; sweat pouring from my body, and a throbbing in my temples. Another nightmare. There's a pounding on my door, and it sounds like the wood's about to break. "Clove, get up!", I hear Mitchell bellow. Well, they've worked out a polite alarm system here. Might I add, it's extremely effective. I drag myself out of bed and wipe the sweat off my face with a pristinely presented white silk towel, I felt guilty using it. I look up at myself in the mirror, just a plain girl from district 2, her fate in someone else's hands. My mind slips back to the time at hand and I walk out to the dining room to get something to eat. Cato greets me first, a friendly smile. Surprising, given the circumstances.

"We'll focus on talk today," Enobaria begins. "So, what have you two been trained to do?" She gives us both a once-over, but doesn't look too impressed with me. "Knife throwing and handling!" I blurt before Cato even has a chance to open his mouth. "And I can bench press a hundred pounds. Basically my dad trained me to handle any weapon, I mean, it is our districts specialty." Ha! Cato looks stunned, and then recovers his smile. "The sword is my weapon," he says at last, as though he couldn't care less if Enobaria knew about his skills. "I can lift two hundred pounds, easy, and handle most weapons…"; he smirks at me, "…Plus wrestle." "Well you look like a wrestler," Enobaria comments, her eyes on his bulging biceps. I can't believe she's favoring him! He looks tough, he could win, he'll get sponsors, but he'll be one of the first on the picking list of the other tributes. Eliminate the clear threats early on. I'm a hidden talent on the other hand, no one will suspect me, I'll sneak in and slaughter them all… That'll show 'em. I don't want to seem like a jealous, twit, so I force out an insincere smile - one of my best skills. I just hate being second rate, especially to people like Cato. If only I could throw my dagger down their throats…

Mitchell enters the compartment, grabbing a fresh bun and taking a seat next to me. He won just two years ago, and I know he's a whiz with knives too. We seem to have a lot in common, and if he won, maybe I have a chance. Maybe, being the operative word. I can't help noticing his tanned skin, broad shoulders, and teal-blue eyes. His hair, a light shade of sandy blonde. Similar to Ca…

"So, Clove?" Enobaria's harsh voice jolts me out of my daydream. "Separately or together?" Oh. "Whatever, I don't mind," I say, although I do mind. I can tell Cato is a tough competitor, but I don't want him to think I'm scared of him. So What? Even if he knows how well I can handle knives, he can't stop me if the time comes… When, the time comes. Cato's getting on my nerves, his smirking; it's too friendly. Fake. I should just send a knife straight through his throat now...

"All right then. You two have the day to yourselves. Just stay on the train during stops, please," Enobaria dismisses us. 'You two…?' Anything grouped with Cato and I as a couple disgusted me. It wasn't like we were a pair. Fine, we would be allies for a couple of days, maybe a week or so, but that was it! I had a plan: pretend that I was naive and gullible, get him to trust me, then I would kill him. I couldn't wait to kill him, to see his crystal blue eyes staring up at me, pleading with me, his sandy blonde hair streaked with his own blood, his muscles… Stop! What is wrong with me? He's my enemy. Why do I keep thinking about him?

Unfortunately, Cato does think we are somehow a couple. He sticks close by me all morning, and while I'm trying to catch Mitchell's eye, Cato brags about various sporting contests he wont back in two, and how he expects the games to be no different. "Higher stakes, better equipment. More extreme conditions, that's all," he explains in that gruff raspy voice of his. I just nod and smile, distant from the conversation.

My mind is a blur. Reality is setting in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Clove's Story**

**Chapter 3**

In no time at all thanks to that top of the line speedy trains that Carissa would not stop talking about we arrived in the Capitol. The place was... well, I was speechless. I'd never seen so much color before in my life, shades I didn't even know the name of sprouted up everywhere. Even Cato seemed slightly dazed by the pastel colored buildings, huge green trees, and lush crisp grass. Of course, our mentors, having been here several times before, are unfazed. Before we can further admire the Capitols wealth, our train is directed to an old, rusty building, now used as a train station. Lots of Capitol citizens were already there, eagerly awaiting our arrival, armed with cameras and microphones. Cato waves to them from the window and a huge cheer erupts from the crowd, they're loving it, loving Cato… Who wouldn't? Wait! What did I just say? Praise for Cato, What is happening to me?

We step off the train and the roar of the crowds hits my ears like a clap of thunder. They're cheering for us, for me. I can't help but smile. I edge my way in front of Cato, my father's words echoing in my head: Clove, once your in the Capitol, the Games have begun, it's an all out fight. Never stop fighting, because the moment you do, you're dead.

A car takes us to the training center. Enobaria, Mitchell, Cato, Carissa and I ride the elevator to level two, our new home for the next few days. Cato and I gasp as the elevator doors open. A tall grandfather clock, just striking three; plush sofas, lining the wall of a huge sitting room along with three polished wooden coffee tables and a 64 inch plasma screen TV; marble floors shining and clean. Absolutely breathtaking. "You have the rest of the afternoon to yourselves, you two," Carissa says in her eccentric Capitol accent. I sigh. Can't you people just stop presenting Cato and I as 'together"? "And then tonight, we will all go down to the Remake center to meet your fantastic stylists and prep teams!" Enobaria and Mitchell also have the afternoon off, and Enobaria disappears into her quarters. Mitchell walks towards me casually, and I assume an equally nonchalant expression. "I'll show you round, if you'd like?" he suggests. I nod mutely, hiding my smile, noting the singular 'you' with pleasure. As we leave, I can't help but notice Cato's curious expression, he nearly looks hurt. Why?

"I hear being re-made is the worst part of the prep experience," I say, to start up a conversation.

"Got that right," Mitchell grimaces. "But I don't worry, our district has Hadley and Jewel, they're top of the line. It's the prep team who I think are crazy. You'll either get the crazy package, with Myra, Karl and Spark, or the inept package with Crescent, Mara and Cesta."

"Wait, so my prep team will have males in it too?" I snap, frowning.

"Yeah," Mitchell replies, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't noticed on TV?" well, I recall prep teams being introduced on their victory night, but they've been so made up with sparkles and stupid colours that I couldn't really tell their gender.

"I hear you volunteered for your friend?" Mitchell changes the subject.

"Oh, yeah. Analie… I promised he that I'd go for her if she ever got chosen," I explain, pleased with how impressed he looks. I guess he doesn't know I'm a career. "Didn't you volunteer too?" I ask.

"Nah, I was chosen, but with that escort I had, he had this huge accent, and called me Mitchell Kensworth, not Kentsurt, and I had to go up there once that kid read the name and pointed at me." I laugh a little at the story, and subconsciously wipe my sweating hands on my jeans.

"Is it a bit hot in here or what?" Mitchell says, taking off his shirt. HIS SHIRT! I see his finely toned abs, and faint scars along his broad chest. He likes you back! My mind screams at me. Do something cute, flirt back!

"Yeah, I guess," I shrug, slowly peeling off my sweater and adjusting my cam. He winks at me. "You know we've got a few hours to ourselves," he says slyly. I just nod. "Whaddya say we hang out in your room?". We slowly meander back to the room and just as I'm just about to open the door, Cato bursts out from inside and slams straight into me. "Where were you? It's been hours; I thought he was just showing you around the place? I thought he might have done something with you?" He glances between us, his eyes hovering on me. I suddenly feel self-conscious and pull my sweater back on. " I was just returning her," Mitchell says to Cato. "See you later, sweetheart," he half-whispers to me, leaning down and giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. Color floods to my cheeks instantaneously. He just kissed me. Mitchell turns on his heels and trots off down the hall, Cato follows him with his eyes until he disappears around the corner then his gaze comes straight back to mine. "What was that all about?".

"Nothing, he was just being friendly," I reply as I walk past him into our room.

That look again. The look of hurt he had earlier. What is it for?

Carissa calls us for dinner and we all sit around the lilac glass table. I barely touch my food; I spend the time chasing peas around my plate with a fork…too many thoughts swimming around in my head. Mitchell. Cato. Mitchell. The Games. Cato…. Cato. Why can't I stop thinking about him? Do I like…? No. No way.

Maybe…

After dinner, a limo picks us up to take us to the Remake Centre. I, unfortunately, got the crazy package, quoting Mitchell. Hadley orders me to strip, and neither Karl nor Spark have the decency to stop staring for a single second. They wax me from head to toe, though obviously not my head, and I have to bite my tongue at least ten times, to stop myself yelling, "I'm already going to have to fight to the death with 23 other innocent people in a few days! It's been nice of you to spare me of some useless pain!" The three of them keep up the nonstop chatter about how my long hair is ugly, I'm too skinny (excuse me!), I need to grow taller…. By the time they're complaining about my pales skin, I break. "You guys are the ones that look horrible! You have disgusting trends and disfigured body parts and horrible hairstyles!" Amazingly, it's as though they're deaf, or I'm just a rock, and they ignore me. Weird idiots. I hear Cato laughing from the cubicle beside me.

Glad I amused someone…

I think about the days to come. We start training in a few days. But first, the Opening Ceremony.


	4. Chapter 4

**Clove's Story**

**Chapter Four**

Training! Finally! I am so excited! I hardly slept last night, which, in the long run, probably wasn't very clever. I need all the sleep I can get leading up to the Games. I had a dream about Cato last night. I don't know what's happening to me? I lie awake for about an hour, just thinking. I've been trying so hard to suppress memories and tears so far, but it all floods into me. Could I really win these Games? Of course I can, my father has trained me for this all my life. But Cato could say the same. If it comes down to the two of us, what happens? Plus, I haven't met the rest of my competitors yet, and already I'm afraid. My mind wanders to my family. They must be so proud now, and I know they can't wait to see me on TV. No doubt my older brother is going around school betting with his friends. It was only yesterday, that I had been talking to my family, training at home, in a familiar place. It seems so distant.

"Clove!" Mitchell yells, rapping hard on my door, just like every other day. "Breakfast! You'd better get up quick, apparently training starts at 10:00am, Carissa thought it was at 11:00am, and she wants you guys to eat two hours prior to avoid getting cramps, and-"

"Okay, whatever, I get it," I snap, rolling off my bed and grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants. "Coming in five."

Breakfast is delicious, as always. Typically at home we just have plain bread with maybe an apple, but here it's a buffet, every meal is. Scrambled eggs overflow from an extravagant looking silver bowl. Bacon in every possible shape imaginable. Fifty different flavors of juice: apple, orange, strawberry, grape, lemon, lime… Some I have never even heard of before. Not to mention rows of pastel bone-china cups filled with hot cocoa, tea and water. How much do people in the Capitol eat? Sheesh.

"Lets get going, you'll be late to the first training session!" squeals Carissa, checking her watch. "Carissa, it's quarter to ten," Mitchell says. "Calm down."

"Are all escorts this loony?" Cato mutters in my ear. I stifle a giggle, then let it escape, remembering my plan of playing naive. Cato looks pleased.

Nevertheless, Carissa is convinced that it will take us ten minutes to walk a flight of stairs… We arrive nine minutes early; Carissa visibly relaxes. "Well, I'll leave you two here," she decides, flouncing off to who knows where.

Cato and I are the fifth district to arrive. Districts one, five, six and nine are there with their mentors, looking scared, bored, or expressionless. Before I know it, Cato's arm is around me. "How about we go meet our new allies, Mitchell tipped me off," he whispers in my ear. Everyone is staring at us. I'm shocked, heat escaping from my cheeks. Suddenly, I find myself drifting along beside him towards the tributes from District one. I feel a bit like an orphan, the only district without a mentor. But somehow, Cato calms me. There's just something about him…

I can't help staring at the others as they arrive. I might kill you, I think, looking at the boy from ten. Or you, the girl from seven. Maybe him, the boy from eleven. I laugh to myself. No, not him. That guys looks like a giant muscle machine, I would have no chain, lets just hope someone gets to him before he gets to me.

We strike up conversation with the district one tributes. They eye us up suspiciously, confused maybe, at Cato's odd gesture to me earlier.

The girl seems shallow, but nice. Her name is Glimmer. It's a bit awkward since we are the only ones in the room talking. Cato joins the boy from one, they just glare at each other, and after three minutes, stop. Apparently, boys communicate this way.

The last ones to arrive are district twelve, that wimpy boy and annoying girl. A tall woman, Atala, guides us into the gym and explains a bunch of stuff, like when we have breaks, but no one cares. She lets us off. I know that first impressions are important, so I walk straight over to the weapons station. Cato and the other careers follow. I can't help but notice that the other tributes look terrified of us, and smirk. I point this out to Glimmer and the boy from four, Milo, who laugh openly. We are the popular crowd, the bullies. School social scenic apply everywhere, I suppose.

I carefully take notice of the others skills. Glimmer can't seem to do anything but model, talk and look good. The boy from one, Marvel, uses spears with average skills, and can handle maces all right. Cato is strong, good at hand to hand combat, uses swords and spears like he's never been without them. Of course Cato's good, I had no doubt about that, but now I can actually see it, first hand. The way his muscles ripple as he strikes the punching bag with full force, the concentration on his face as he whips his sword around, slicing the arm off one of the dummies. He is a warrior. A true gladiator. "Clove! What are you doing? That's Cato you're talking about! Stop it!" I whisper under my breath, but somehow, nothing happens. Maybe what I'm thinking are my true thoughts? Maybe I've been brainwashed? Well whatever it is, it'll have to wait for later. Nothing should faze me during training. I get back to my observations. The girl of four, Rachelle, uses knives all right, and can start fires well too. Milo uses tridents, spears, and weaves nets well. Hmm, maybe we'll keep them alive for a bit, they could come in handy, too bad they look weak. When it comes to my turn, I throw my knives with perfect precision, hitting every dummy in both the heart, and the head. Everyone seems impressed. I spend the rest of my morning lifting weights, practicing my hand-to-hand combat with an instructor and learning nature skills. We careers stick together the whole time, and when lunch arrives, we sit at the same table, glaring at the others as though daring to ask stupidly, "Can I sit here?"

We get back to training after nearly an hour, but we split up this time- Cato, Rachelle and I head to hand to hand, while the others cover weapons practice, again. I spot the pair from twelve tying knots. Knots? Seriously? How pathetic. I learn that the girls name is Katniss and the boy is Peeta. Weird girly name- what boys name ends in a?


	5. Chapter 5

**Clove's Story**

**Chapter Five**

Morning comes quickly. For some reason, when I wake up I'm thinking about Cato…again. Why do I keep thinking about him? He'll be an enemy in a matter of days. I get dressed and pull my hair back into a ponytail, even though the prep team will undo whatever I do in a matter of minutes. I plod into the dining room, where Cato's waiting with Enobaria, Mitchell and Carissa. We barely have time to eat before the prep teams come and we're taken to the Remake Center.

Within moments of meeting them, I hate my prep team. They are so self obsessed that they talk about themselves the whole time they're working on me. It feels like a lifetime of gritting my teeth to prevent every insult imaginable coming out, when I meet my stylist, Hadley, again. He appears to have a natural skin color, but lavender hair and matching eyes. He's wearing a purple suit that almost matches." Hello, Clove. Nice to see you again." I notice that he has a Capitol accent, but it's not as bad as some people's. The prep team was told to leave my hair alone, so that's the only part of me left to take care of before the Opening Ceremony other than my outfit. Hadley examines my long brown hair, trying to decide what to do with it. "Maybe we could trim it, just to take care of the split ends and things, to make it look nice, and then curl it?" he says, circling me like he's out to pounce. I just nod, agreeing to whatever he suggests. He trims my hair, not even cutting off a full inch to get all of the ends and layers even, then curls it with a device For a second, I wonder where he was going, what's missing? Then it comes to me… My outfit. A wave of dread washes over me, I've seen the type of outfits on TV from previous Games, some have been hideous. I just cross my fingers and close my eyes, praying for anything half-decent.

When Hadley returns, I keep my eyes clamped shut as he and the prep team dress me. I dread opening my eyes again; I don't want to see the outfit that will publicly embarrass me in front of all of Panem. I can hear Cato in the cubicle next to me giving praise to his prep team, it settles me a bit. I open my eyes. I stare at the beautiful girl in front of me, she stares back. That can't be me. She's beautiful. I take a step back and admire what seems to be, my reflection. My body is draped in glistening gold silk, it billows down, pooling around my ankles. A collar of delicate golden leaves sits on my shoulders, it reminds me of chainmail armour, but its beautiful. My hair looks stunning, elaborate braids loop around my head, twisting and twirling through patches of gold dust. I'm like a goddess, strong and bold. Beautiful. Hadley turns around and grabs a golden winged-headpiece and gently places it on my head, trying hard not to disrupt the intricate braids. "There. Done." He steps back and admires his work before leaving the cubicle. I do a slow twirl; the gold catches every bit of light in the room. My own beauty stuns me. If only Cato could- I stop mid twirl to see Cato standing at the opening of the cubicle, wide-eyed, his bottom jaw hanging slightly. I seem to be infatuating him. I feel myself blush and dip my head slightly. "Clove, I… you, you look stunning. Beautiful," now he's blushing. Does he mean it? "Ah…Do I? Well, uh, thanks," I manage to stutter. He walks towards me, his eyes glued. I feel a bit self-conscious as he circles me, inspecting me. "Absolutely stunning…" He whispers under his breath, I wonder if he knew I could hear him. "How do I look?" He asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. He looks ravishing, incredibly handsome. Cato, like me, is dressed in gold, but his prep team has made him a stunning golden suit of armour. The light hits him perfectly from every angle. The gold brings out glistening pale bronze and amber tones in his hair. The muscles in his arms flex as he strikes poses for me, showing off his outfit. He looks like a gladiator. But of course I can't say this to him. "You look, uh, great." I squeak. He smiles and grabs my hand, leading me towards the chariots. It shocks me for a second, but I relax, my body feeling suddenly warm. "Come on sweetheart, we've got a Ceremony to attend."

Before I can even steady myself, the Chariot lurches forward, nearly throwing me onto the ground. Luckily, Cato catches me. "Careful there Clove, the Games haven't even started and you're already trying to kill yourself," he whispers, winking at me. I regain my balance and fix my headpiece, hopefully my hairs not ruined. Cato must have read my expression because he quickly gives me a reassuring thumbs-up. As the chariot takes a steady pace, we wave to the roaring crowds, lapping up the attention. I know I look good, so why not show it? When the District 12 chariot is announced, the crowd falls silent, and then a wave of noise erupts. I catch a glimpse of what they must be seeing on the big screens and gasp. They are on fire! The District 12 tributes are actually on fire! They are breathtaking. I've never seen anything like it in the history of the Games. Flames flicker brightly on the screens. They have stolen the show. Of course. I roll my eyes, I see Cato does the same and I laugh. Our chariot pulls to a halt and President Snow officially welcomes us. We are then asked to make our way back to our rooms to get changed for our interviews.

Time to make an impact.


End file.
